GreenEyed Monster Chapters 1 & 2 3 to come
by Jada115
Summary: Alan feels threatened by a new associate at CPS. All original BL characters property of David Kelley. Miranda Houston storyline and bit parts are my creation. Romance. No slash or flash.
1. Chapter 1

Green-Eyed Monster Part I

Alan entered the building one blistery February morning. Miranda had arrived earlier to prepare some research for a case. He hoped she had his coffee and breakfast in his office. He needed to be in court soon but had to pick up some files first. When he entered the hallway leading to his office he noticed Miranda chatting with a young man. Alan did not recognize this man and ascertained he was some new assistant or associate.

When Miranda saw Alan, she ended her conversation and approached him warmly. "Good morning, Mr. Shore," she said coyly.

"It seems you've made a friend," Alan said, watching the man disappear around the corner.

Miranda's eyes followed Alan's. She shrugged. "He's a new associate here—Ethan McClure."

"He seems…young. They must be handing out law degrees in kindergarten these days." He gazed at her steadily. She could feel him analyzing her. "Your conversation seemed rather…animated," he said. "I'm all aflutter to know the topic."

"I believe I was explaining the musical genius of Bob Dylan; he said he didn't get it." She studied him for a moment. "Are you feeling well?"

"I think I feel a headache coming on."

"You seem a little grumpy this morning, darling."

"You're attempting to handle me."

"What makes you think that?"

"You only use terms of endearment when you're handling me. I cannot be handled."

"Hm. Actually, you're rather easy to manage." She winked and smiled. "Besides," she said lowering her voice seductively, "I don't _always_ use terms of endearment to handle you. I have a wide range of implements at my disposal. Now, tell me why you're grumpy."

He moved closer. "If I am, I'm certain you're to blame."

"Me?"

"Yes; you left my bed too early, so I didn't wake up properly. These past few weeks I've developed a taste for…." He cast his eyes down her body and lightly ran his hand along her ribs, feeling the soft angora sweater. "A particular sort of breakfast to set my day off right."

She took his brief case. "Yes. And while that is the most important meal of the day, I _had_ to come to work to prepare this file." She held up a manila folder. "So my man doesn't make a fool of himself in court today. I would be the laughing stock of all the other assistants. You don't want that on your conscience, do you?"

He laughed. "Your man? The irony of that…"

"Yes, yes. Never mind that now. Give me your coat." He slid out of his coat and handed it to her.

"Now, come in here." She hooked her arm through his and led him into his office. "I have your coffee and your breakfast on your desk per your request. Hazel cream cheese on a cinnamon bagel, you'll be happy to know."

"That's not quite the breakfast I had in mind."

She put the file folder in front of him, placed his briefcase on the floor beside his desk, and hung the coat on the rack behind him as she spoke.

"You have an hour to eat that, read over these, and get to court."

He sat at his desk and sipped his coffee.

She continued. "I hope you weren't planning on having lunch with me today. I'm going to meet with Vera to close on the house."

"Sounds good." He opened the folder and began skimming the papers inside.

"Is there anything I can bring you for lunch while I'm out?"

"No. I'll go somewhere with Denny."

"Okay." She turned to leave.

"Miranda?"

"Yes?"

"Please stay."

She started to say that she was incredibly busy and needed to get caught up on some work, but his eyes conveyed a vulnerability she rarely saw. She moved his coffee and food over and sat on the corner of his desk.

He held up a paper. "Here, read this to me."

He rolled back from the desk and took her foot in his hands, removing her shoe. He lightly touched the sole of her foot.

She gasped. "Alan. You know that tickles. Stop it."

He held her foot tight. "Keep reading."

She continued to read while he rubbed her foot. After a brief passage she paused. "Are you even getting any of this?"

"Every word."

She resumed reading as he moved his hands up her shin, her knee, her thigh. Just as his hand was about to slip under her skirt, there was a knock at the door.

"There must be sensors to alert people to interrupt us; it's becoming more than coincidental, don't you think?"

Miranda tried to slide off the desk, but Alan gripped her knee and peeked around her body as she looked over her shoulder.

"Hi, Ethan," she said.

"Um, I had a question. But, if you're busy…"

Miranda and Alan spoke at the same time.

Alan said, "Yes, she is."

Miranda said, "I'm not."

They locked eyes. Alan's glinted stubbornly; hers pleaded, embarrassed. Without looking away from Alan she said, "I'll be right with you, Ethan. Wait at my desk."

Ethan disappeared.

"I still have," Alan looked at his watch. "Fifty-five minutes. All I really need is five." His hand resumed its task. "Continue reading."

"Alan." Miranda stopped his hand. "This clearly isn't the best time."

"Just read quickly. I don't mind quickies."

She laid the paper on his desk. "You're going to be late."

Hurt mixed with frustration briefly surfaced in his eyes; then the wall she had become so familiar with fell into place. "Very well." He removed his hand and pulled himself up to his desk, returning to his reading.

"Alan…"

He wouldn't look up at her. He spoke calmly, coolly. "Young Ethan awaits you, Miranda. You don't want to keep him waiting. He has what is, no doubt, a _yearning_ question for you."

She stared at him, trying to decide if she wanted to say something; trying to decide if it was really worth having the last word. She was amazed at how quickly he seemed to resume full lawyer mode. She wanted to say that he was acting silly. She wanted to say he was behaving like a petulant child.

He added, without looking up, "Is there something on your mind, Miranda? By your continued staring I would say there is; so let's have it."

She said exactly what popped into her mind at that moment. "It's not worth it." She strode off to speak with Ethan.

He looked up, brows furrowed, to watch her walk away. He dumped the food in the trash, no longer hungry; gulped the now lukewarm coffee and tossed the file into his briefcase. He removed his coat from the rack and left his office.

"Good luck, Alan," Miranda said.

He turned slowly and said, "Miranda, I'm one of the best trial attorneys in Boston. I don't need luck. You ought to know that by now."

Denny turned the corner, said, "Denny Crane," and continued on down the hall.

Alan motioned toward Denny's back with flair and announced. "And lest we forget: I've also got that."

Miranda put a hand on her hip and cocked an eyebrow, mildly irritated. "Then what do you say to a man who needs no luck?"

Alan turned his attention to Ethan, staring at him as he spoke to Miranda. "Nothing _to _say. Your attempt _would be_ and _is_ utterly _futile_."

Ethan glanced between the two. "Huh?"

"Then _au revoir._" She shrugged and added, in French, "See you tonight_?_"

Alan replied to Miranda, also in French, but still staring at Ethan. "Of course. And I will lick chocolate syrup off your body with great zeal."

Ethan, terribly uncomfortable and confused, looked around nervously. "What? Are you talking to me?"

A self-satisfied smirk crossed Alan's lips. He returned his gaze to Miranda who bit her bottom lip to stifle a laugh.

When Alan turned the corner, he paused briefly to listen.

Ethan said to Miranda. "Was he talking about me?"

"No; he wasn't."

"What did he say just now?"

"Doesn't matter."

"But he was looking at me. Who the hell is that guy?"

"That is Alan Shore—one of the _best_ attorneys in Boston, Ethan. Weren't you paying attention?"

"Is he crazy?"

"Perhaps; however, he's never dull—which, as it turns out, is much more important than being sane."

"How can you work for that…" He struggled to find the right word but Miranda interrupted.

"I think it's best if you don't complete that sentence. And I think we're done here. If there's nothing else I've got work to do."

Alan continued down the hall. "That's my girl," he said to himself proudly as he briefly ogled a pretty blonde assistant passing by him.

* * *

When Alan and Denny had returned from lunch, Alan stopped by the break room to get a bottled water.

Ethan was there making a cup of tea. He lifted his chin in greeting and said, "S'up?"

Alan smirked, amused, annoyed. "S'up?" he said mockingly. He ran his eyes briefly over Ethan's curly dark hair slicked back off his smooth tanned forehead. "Is that a contraction? And where does the apostrophe go?"

"Huh?"

"S'up! What a succinct way to hail in all the glory of a beautiful day and the promise of new acquaintances."

Puzzled, Ethan said, "What?"

Again, Alan smirked. "You say 'huh' and 'what' a great deal. Are you hard of hearing? Is English not your first language? We know it isn't French, right? Or, I've got it!" He added with mock passion, "You're an enigma, a mysterious man of few words, who plays his cards close to his chest, keeping everyone guessing as to the deeply complex and misunderstood individual that lies beneath."

When his speech ended, Alan's face fell blank, staring at Ethan evenly until he was forced avert his green eyes, confused.

"Um…I guess."

Alan smiled and opened his hands toward Ethan. "You guess. Brilliant! I eagerly look forward to your next syllable. Keep me posted, will you? Shall I give you my phone number so you can text me or even tweet me? I'm all a-twitter to find out what brilliant and astute phrases shall fall upon us. The anticipation threatens to keep me awake all night."

Ethan smiled under the delusion that Alan was joking. "Funny."

Alan wasn't smiling.

Recognition dawned on Ethan. "Oh, yea! You're that Alan Shore guy."

"The very one."

"I saw you earlier when I was talking to _Miranda_."

"What about Ms. Houston?"

Ethan tried to be nonchalant. "Nothing."

"The way you _stroked_ her name indicates that there's more; that there is more than her name you would like to stroke."

Ethan snorted. "Hell yea! She's smoking hot!" He added sugar to his tea. "I couldn't work around that without doing something about it. Know what I'm saying?"

"Yes. But here at Crane, Poole, and Schmidt, we don't allow our new associates to sexually harass anyone—especially the assistants. That perk is reserved only for the upper level associates." Alan poured his water in a glass.

Ethan held out his hand to Alan. "By the way, I'm Ethan."

He never took his eyes from Ethan's face nor made any motion to accept Ethan's hand.

Ethan looked at his own hand then let it drop insecurely. "I'm a new associate."

"Yes. That much was apparent—you reek of it. Or is that stench your powerful cologne?"

"Man, have I done something to offend you?"

"Not yet; but I'm waiting."

Ethan shook his head, annoyed, dropped his tea bag in the trash and started out the door.

Alan added, "I'm also watching, young Ethan. I like to watch."

Ethan eyed him incredulously and silently left the room.

* * *

Alan did watch for the next week and often caught Miranda and Ethan in the hallways, in the break room, chatting, sometimes even laughing, but he remained silent on the issue, continuing with life as usual. Then one afternoon, he cornered Miranda against the bookshelf in the research library and asked her where she wanted to go for dinner.

"Well," she said, smoothing his tie. "Since I've just moved into my townhome, I really need to unpack and get some stuff put away."

"Oh, yes," he said flatly. "But we could still go for dinner couldn't we? You could wear something tight and revealing; something for me to fantasize about while I'm in bed alone tonight."

"I really want to get started, Alan. There's so much to do. I was just going to order something to be delivered. But you can come by if you want—keep me company."

He ran his finger over her clavicle. "I don't want to get in the way." He added playfully, "Did I say I was going to be alone?"

"It's come up."

He chuckled. "Yes."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "You would _not_ be in the way if you wanted to come over."

"Perhaps I could be persuaded if you wore a French maid outfit while you worked. Or better yet that delightful school girl skirt."

She laughed. "Maybe this would be a good night for you to be with Denny since you haven't had a sleepover with him in awhile. Go to dinner with him. Maybe he will wear something tight and revealing for you. He might even wear the French maid costume."

He lowered his voice seductively, pulling her into him, "As entertaining as that might be, it's not quite what I had in mind. After all there would still be one very integral part of the evening left undone. And, besides, Denny would never go for the French maid costume—too much lace; it's itchy."

"Well, think back to what you did before you met me-then do that."

"Prostitutes?"

"Alan, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"I would prefer you _didn't_ hire a prostitute. Surely there were nights when you…fended for yourself."

"Often; but that's just not the same."

"Granted; but maybe just for a few nights you can manage without me."

"You're much less fun when you're responsible."

"Yes; aren't we all? Nevertheless, I can't live in a hotel forever, so I've got to get this done."

"Why not? You can stay in my room and we'll have room service every night and day."

She scoffed. "Surely you jest. I want a real home with a real kitchen and a real dining table—my own space, my own territory."

"Highly over rated."

She squirmed out of the corner and kissed him on the cheek. "Call Denny," she said, tapping his bottom with her book.

* * *

Alan and Denny did go to dinner and topped it off with a sleepover. Alan came to work the next day completely refreshed, his mood bright and energized.

He again noticed Miranda in the hall speaking with Ethan, who had become ever more an irritant. He paused and watched. Ethan seemed to be discussing clothes or her hair. He was reaching into Miranda's space and motioning upward. Miranda then pulled her hair up and turned like a centerfold. They both made other gestures to indicate that they were discussing something about her body or clothes. She laughed. He laughed. Alan set his jaw and approached them.

"Good morning." He looked between them with stifled suspicion. "I like jokes. What's funny?"

Ethan fidgeted uncomfortably and said, "Hey. Miranda, I'll see you around."

"Sure."

He watched Ethan walk away. "Aw. That's too bad. Ethan seems like such a funny guy." He turned to Miranda with mock concern. "I don't think he likes me."

"Should I find out for you? Maybe you two could go to the prom together."

"Would you? That would be swell."

She chuckled. "Don't worry, you're funnier," she said.

"Am I?" He took her by the elbow and led her toward his office.

"Yes." She yawned.

"Up late?"

"Yes, actually. Then when I went to bed, some jackass decided to sit outside my window with his car stereo booming."

"Did you call the police?"

"I did. Apparently they took off when the cops rolled up. But about an hour later, the car came back and the music went back up. They finally left at two this morning. It was a nightmare. Did you sleepover with Denny?"

"I did."

"How was it?"

"Comfortable. I slept amazingly well."

She looked at him surprised. "Really? You do seem to have a certain spring in your step today, bright eyes. So does this mean you don't sleep comfortably with me?"

"I probably would if we actually did much sleeping. Nevertheless, you should know that my batteries are re-charging quite nicely and in a few more evenings I will be fully energized…"

"Like that little pink bunny?"

"Exactly." He smiled. "And like that little bunny I will be able to 'keep going, and going, and…'"

"But if _I_ don't get some sleep, you'll be all recharged with nowhere to go."

"Who says you have to be awake?"

She slapped his chest playfully.

"I'm only speaking the truth. There have been many nights when you were fast asleep and I…"

Shirley appeared.

Alan finished his sentence with "Went spelunking."

"Pardon?"

"I was just telling Miranda about how I love to go spelunking-in deep, dark caverns." He smirked.

Shirley rolled her eyes. "Yes, and since you're afraid of the dark, you probably need a night light and a guide to hold your hand every step of the way to show you exactly what to do."

Alan laughed silently. "I'll have you know I'm an expert _spelunker. _I'd be happy to..."

Shirley's eyes hardened. "Alan,if we can put your libido aside and talk seriously for a moment?"

"What's on your mind?"

"There's a Mrs. Gilbert. Her husband was recently mugged and shot in the street; three people stood by, took pictures and videos of the event and posted it on You Tube, Facebook, and Twitter while he bled to death. Had they used their phones to call for help instead of documenting the scene, doctors say he might still be alive. The wife wants to sue those three people for murder."

"Is she here now?"

"She is. She's in my office. I would like you to second chair this case with me."

Alan directed Miranda to start looking up case law and then he followed Shirley to her office.

* * *

After the meeting with Mrs. Gilbert, Alan stood to return to his office when Shirley said, "You and Miranda seem happy." She looked up at him over the rim of her red glasses.

"I don't know that happiness would ever be a word to describe _me_, Shirley. However, I suppose, in this case, I've come as close as possible."

She removed her glasses and sat back in her chair. "I know you didn't ask, and I don't mean to pry, but I wanted to say, if my opinion means anything to you at all, she seems to be a good match for you."

Alan smiled half-heartedly. "Thank you Shirley; your opinion has always meant a great deal to me."

"Because I've come to regard you as a friend, what I'm about to say, I say because I genuinely care: Don't screw it up."

He scoffed silently, smiling crookedly at her. He nodded, set his jaw, and left silently.

* * *

That afternoon, Alan found Miranda and Ethan in the research library together, talking. He peered through the window to see her jot something on a slip of paper and hand it to him. He set his jaw then abruptly turned and walked away before he could be seen. When Miranda returned to her desk he was waiting to ask her to dinner; she declined. Again, he spent the evening with Denny, but was too preoccupied to enjoy himself.

* * *

After dinner they came back to Denny's office and sat in the dark in front of the glass doors, looking out on the balcony; it was much too cold to sit outside and it had begun to snow. They sat in silence for a long time, each trapped in his own thoughts.

Finally Alan said quietly, coolly, "I think Miranda is seeing someone else."

Denny turned stiffly, seriously, to gaze at Alan. "Hm," Denny grunted then turned away to sip his drink. "How do you know?"

"I saw her give what appeared to be her phone number to this young new associate."

"Who?"

"Ethan McClure."

"McClure? Never heard of him," he grumbled into his glass.

"And she's been laughing with him too."

"Does she still laugh with you?"

"Yes."

"As much as before?"

"I think so."

"Then what are you worried about?"

"I don't like the way he looks at her."

"Why?"

"It reminds me too much of…_me_, I suppose." Aland paused and sipped his scotch. "Then he said something so…" he shook his head, irritated, searching for the best word, "Asinine."

"You want me to shoot him?"

Alan chuckled, shook his head. "No, Denny I don't want you to shoot him."

"I do it-for you."

Alan nodded, smiling. "I know you would, my friend." He reached over and touched Denny's arm. "And I'm thankful for that."

"I may shoot him anyway."

Alan laughed. "I have no doubt."

"Is that why you're here tonight? Because she's out with McCracken."

"McClure."

"She says she needs time to move into her new place—which is likely the truth, but…"

"But?"

Alan sipped his scotch, evading the answer because he didn't want to admit ….

Denny said, as if completing Alan's thoughts, "It bugs you, doesn't it?"

Alan scoffed. "I have to admit, it does."

"Do you love this girl?"

"I don't know," Alan said evasively. Again, he was trapped between the truth and the version of the truth he preferred to tell himself.

"Let me ask you this…" He shifted in his seat. "Now pay attention because everything you need to know is wrapped up in the answer to this one question."

Alan looked at him.

"Is she worth _fighting_ for?" Denny said, clenching his fist in the air.

Alan was a little taken aback by the question and fell into deep thought. "I don't know. I've never fought for anyone before."

"You fight for people everyday in the courtroom."

"Yes. But those are strangers; there's a distance, so it's easier to fight for them."

"But _that's_ your answer to the love question—to everything."

"If I would fight for her?"

"No. If she's _worth_ fighting for."

Alan's brows furrowed and he took another sip of scotch, staring at the flecks of snow swirling and drifting mutely against the Boston skyline.

Denny gazed at him then said in a hoarse whisper, "I know."

Alan swallowed his drink then looked at Denny. "You know what?"

Denny squinted his eye and pointed to his head. "The answer." He leaned on the arm of the chair and whispered, "I know things."

Alan laughed. "What are you talking about?"

Denny just pointed to his head again and said, "Don't you worry, my friend. Don't you worry."

"Denny what are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about it."

"You're not going to shoot him. I forbid it."

"You _forbid_ it?" Denny laughed derisively.

"Denny, I really don't want to be an accessory to conspiracy, manslaughter, or worse, murder. I've been able to avoid prison for a long time—and let's face it, with the way I've lived my life I'm certain I can't live much longer; therefore, I would really like the rest of my days to be spent in freedom. Please, promise me you will not shoot this man."

"Don't get your panties in a wad."

"What are you going to do?"

"Sleepover?" Denny jumped up and grabbed his coat.

Alan stood, picking up his things. "You're evading the question, Denny."

Denny started out the door, with Alan following behind, putting on his coat.

Denny said, "Tonight I thought we would have Hot Tamales instead of Red Hots. Have you ever had those? Joan turned me on to those; she's turned me on to a lot of things," he growled. "You know, I think I like them better than Red Hots."

"Denny…"

"Alan!" Denny snapped, stopping in the hallway, glaring him.

Alan froze, shocked. Denny rarely snapped at him like that.

Denny spoke slowly, threateningly. "Enough! Do you want to sleepover or not?"

"Of course," Alan said quietly. He paused then added as they continued to the elevator, "So, do you really think Hot Tamales are better than Red Hots?"


	2. Chapter 2

Green Eyed Monster Part II

When they got back to Denny's place, Alan waited until Denny went to the bathroom. Alan called Miranda. The phone rang once, twice. He checked the time—only eleven—she should be awake still. Three, four, five rings. No answer. Voicemail.

He closed his eyes. An acidic taste surged in his throat as he gently placed the receiver back in its cradle. Denny's question echoed in his head: Is she worth fighting for?

Long after Denny had fallen to sleep, Alan sat up, flipping through channels on the television. His stomach burned. Probably too many Hot Tamales, he lied to himself. Turns out, they are better than Red Hots.

Alan woke in the early morning hours unable to breathe as if a ton of concrete sat on his chest. He tried to roll over but couldn't. He felt paralyzed. He opened his eyes to see Denny's face looming over him in the dark. In shock, he tried to jump, but found he couldn't move.

"Denny, what are you doing?" Alan said, panicked.

"Why are you laying on me? Get off of me!" He shouted, gasping for air.

"I was just checking to make sure you were all right." Denny reached over and flipped on Alan's bedside lamp and rolled off of Alan.

Alan squinted in the light. "What in the hell is going on? Why were you trying to crush me?" He sat up in bed.

"I think you had one of those night visions."

"Night terror? I had a night terror?"

Denny nodded, his face marked with concern. "Scared the hell out of me."

"What happened?"

"I got up to pee and when I came back you were standing at the window. I said something to you, but you just stood there—didn't move, didn't speak; it was creepy. Then you tried to get the window open. I thought you might jump out of it so I grabbed you and brought you back to bed."

"Then you laid on me?"

"Thought it was the best way to keep you from getting up again. And if you did get up, I would know it."

Alan nodded. "I see." He set his jaw and swallowed. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Sorry I screamed at you."

"I've never seen anything like that before. I thought you said I comforted you."

"You do, Denny. You do."

"So this thing with Mara…"

"Miranda…"

"Has got you pretty torn up?"

"It would seem so."

Denny watched Alan, pensively for a moment then turned off the light and crawled back into bed—neither slept peacefully for the rest of the morning.

* * *

Later that morning at work, Miranda handed Alan a cup of coffee, yawning.

"Late night?" Alan said evenly.

"Yes. Those stupid boys and their car stereo kept me awake again last night."

"I see." He stared at her calmly, unnervingly. "And are you making much progress on moving in?"

"I am. The kitchen and my bedroom are now done, which is really the worst of it. All I have left are the bathrooms and a few last finishing touches, hanging pictures. I hope to complete most of that tonight." She paused and looked at him. He was unusually still. "Are you okay?" She leaned against the corner of the desk beside him and touched his forehead, "Did you not sleep well? Didn't you stay with Denny?"

"I did stay with Denny, but I did not sleep well." He looked up at her.

"Oh, sorry to hear that." She added playfully, "Is it because you missed _me_?" She put her hand to his cheek and then ran her fingers over his hair. He briefly closed his eyes, melting.

When she dropped her hand, he looked into his coffee cup and said, "Rather I think it's _you_ who missed _me_."

She looked at him, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"I called you last night." He sipped his coffee.

"Really? What time?"

"Around eleven."

"I didn't hear the phone ring; it must have been silenced or on vibrate—sorry."

"Were you at home?"

"At eleven? Yes, I was."

He gazed up at her.

She sensed his mind working on her. "Is there something on your mind that you would like to discuss, Alan?"

"Funny you should ask. There is something on my mind, actually."

Shirley appeared in the doorway. "Alan?"

Alan continued staring at Miranda as he spoke. "Is there something I can help you with, Shirley?"

"Yes. Can you tell me why Denny is shooting people with paint pellets?"

Alan remained calm; his eyes slid from Miranda to Shirley. "I wasn't aware that he was, but I can assure you I don't know why."

"Whom did he shoot?" Miranda said, standing to face her.

"The new guy: Ethan."

Alan's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Miranda glanced at Alan then back at Shirley, shocked.

Shirley said to Alan, "Would you please get control of him? Tell him to play nice with the new kids or he can't play in our sandbox anymore."

Alan stood calmly, buttoning his suit jacket, and said, "I'll see what I can do. But you do realize I don't _really _have any control over him."

"No, but you do have a great deal of influence—use it." She turned and left.

"I wonder why Denny shot Ethan?"

"I wonder," Alan said distantly. "Miranda, would you please bill Ms. Reed and please call Mr. Harrison to schedule his deposition." He absently handed her a couple sheets of paper and went to check on Denny.

* * *

Denny was in his office, sitting behind his desk, staring out into the hallway; his gun rested on the desk in front of him.

"Denny," Alan said, closing the door. "I specifically asked you _not_ to shoot him. You _promised_ me."

"I didn't shoot him. I…" He searched for a different word and said, "painted him-green."

"Denny…" Alan said exasperated.

"Punk. Didn't like the looks of him. He's a smart ass."

"Nevertheless… Don't make me regret telling you things." Alan held out his hand. "Give me the gun, Denny."

"I have others," he said, handing it to Alan.

"Yes, still I would like to put it away in case you decide to shoot me," Alan said, putting the gun in a nearby cabinet. "I am begging you, Denny, let me handle this."

"He hurt my friend. I hurt him. Simple as that."

"Yes. And while part of me celebrates your loyalty, the other part, the part that doesn't want to go to prison, would like you to let me handle this situation."

Denny grunted. "People who hurt my friends get hurt. That simple. Plus, he caught me on the wrong day."

"What's wrong?"

"Hemorrhoids."

"Denny, that really is more information than I needed. Let's follow the "don't ask, don't tell" policy on such information in the future, shall we?"

Denny grunted. "You asked. I told." He looked up at Alan stubbornly.

"Yes," Alan sighed, squinting.

"What's the matter?"

"I think I'm getting a headache."

* * *

Alan was in the break room making a cup of tea when Miranda walked in.

"I could have gotten that for you," she said.

"Admittedly, I do enjoy it when you bring me food and drink, but I wanted to get away from my desk for a while."

She shrugged. "Okay. What flavor?"

"Indian Chai."

"Mmm. Sounds good. I think I'll have some too."

Ethan entered the break room. "Hey, Miranda." He nodded at Alan.

"Hi, Ethan," she said, pouring water into a mug. She put the mug into the microwave and leaned over to better see the buttons.

Ethan watched her. Alan watched Ethan.

Ethan sensed Alan's gaze and glanced up to catch Alan's cold stare. Ethan looked away uncomfortably. Miranda looked through the fruit, plucking out an apple.

"I just, uh, came to get a water, Ethan said, nervously.

She bit her apple, juice dripping down her chin. "Oh gosh," she said, grabbing a napkin, wiping her chin, oblivious to the two men. She swallowed. "Wow—juicy apple." She took another bite.

Alan smirked, watching Ethan's every move.

Ethan grabbed a bottle from the fridge and said, "Well, uh, see you around, Miranda."

Her mouth was full so she waved.

Ethan glanced up at Alan who continued to stare.

Alan turned to Miranda and said, "I think our young friend likes you."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"As more than friends."

"Don't be ridiculous, Alan. He's gay."

"He is not gay."

"He told me so himself. I think he would know."

"He is not gay."

"How do you know?"

"Let's call it instinct." He touched her hip. "But let's not quibble." He paused, drawing her to him. "You know I deplore sentiment, but I have missed…" He pushed her dark hair aside and ran his fingers down her neck.

She melted against him, snuggling against his chest with a satisfied sigh. He moved his hands down her hair, her back, to her hips. After a pause she said, "You know, maybe he's bi."

His hands froze. "Pardon?"

"Ethan. Maybe he's bisexual."

He pulled back just a little to look down at her. "I have a game I'd like to play."

"Really?" She said mischievously, her dark blue eyes looking up into his face.

"Yes. Let's play a game I like to call Pretend Ethan Doesn't Exist. It's a delightful game where there's only one loser and we always win."

She laughed. "Sounds fun. Is there strip version of this game?"

"In fact, there is."

"Then I can't wait to play."

"Your body. How about we do dinner and then a night of vigorous love-making in your new bed? We'll christen your new apartment, so to speak, a different room each night."

"Mmm. Sounds lovely, but…"

"But?"

"I just need one more night to get my place together."

The wall in his eyes went up again and he backed away.

"Alan, one more night, I swear. Then I'm all yours."

"Are you really?"

She smiled tightly. "I catch the implication in your tone, though I'm not sure _why_ I'm being implicated; however, I'm going to pretend that you're behaving this way because you're tired."

"Denny says I'm grumpy when I'm horny."

"Then perhaps that's the problem. So tonight, you should try to get much better sleep and maybe even take care of your other problem on your own somehow; then, if I'm lucky, tomorrow, you'll be in a less contentious mood."

A faint, sarcastic smile crossed his lips. She kissed his lips hard, biting the lower lip painfully, leaving a red lipstick print on his throbbing lips.

* * *

That night, at midnight, Alan tried calling Miranda again, and again she didn't answer. And once again, Denny interrupted his night terror. Alan began to feel as though he were trapped in a downward spiral. He hated feeling this way and hadn't entertained these thoughts or feelings since before Tara, before Lorraine; he hadn't felt this way since….

He closed his eyes to shut out the memory.


	3. Chapter 3

Green-Eyed Monster Conclusion: Time in a Bottle

The next morning when Alan arrived at work Miranda was at her desk, yawning.

"I've just arrived myself," she said. "I'll get your coffee in just a minute."

"Don't trouble yourself. I'll get it," he said.

He entered his office, set down his briefcase and hung up his coat. He then went immediately to the break room to get his coffee and decided to make one for Miranda too. On his way back to his office he passed Ethan in the hallway.

Alan stopped. "Good morning, Ethan!" He said with mock brightness.

Ethan glanced up at him and scowled. His lip was split and his jaw bruised.

"Oh dear, young Ethan! It appears you've been in a scuffle. Whatever happened?"

"Nothing," Ethan muttered, passing quickly down the hall.

Alan continued on and met with Denny.

"Did you have anything to do with Ethan's lip?"

"What are you talking about?"

"His lip is split open and his jaw is bruised."

Denny shrugged.

"Denny," Alan said warningly, "Did you do something to him?"

"No."

"Maybe you did and forgot."

"No. But I shot him."

"You did. Do you recall if you shot him in the face?"

"I don't think so. Should I shoot him again? I could. I shoot better with a target."

"No thanks, Denny; you've done quite enough." Alan smiled and said proudly, "Denny Crane."

"That's right. Don't forget it."

"I couldn't possibly."

Miranda was at the filing cabinet.

Alan handed one of the coffees to her. "I come bearing a gift."

"Thank you so much. That was next on my list. Give me just a second here." She ran her fingers over the tops of the files looking for the right spot to place the folder she held.

As she pushed the file into place he sidled up to her and whispered, "It seems as if your little friend Ethan has been involved in a scuffle."

She closed the filing cabinet drawer and looked at him, concerned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I just passed him in the hallway and noticed his lip is split open and bruised. I wonder what could have happened."

She took her cup from Alan, leaned against the cabinet and sipped her coffee. "That's odd. I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I haven't seen him."

"So he hasn't said anything to you about it?"

"No, I just told you. I haven't seen him this morning."

"Curious."

"Yes."

"You know, Miranda," he squinted, studying her, "I _love_ puzzles."

"I know; so do I."

He placed a hand on the filing cabinet, cornering her against it, "And when I come across a puzzle that I can't solve, it drives me mad. I'm unable to quit until I've completed the entire thing."

Her blue feline eyes drifted over his face, studying him. "Not me. I eventually get frustrated."

"Then what?"

"I either cheat to somehow get the answers or I give up for awhile, telling myself I'll come back to it later."

"And do you come back to it?"

"Not often. Most puzzles just aren't that captivating; they're easy to forget about. But there have been a few times when I picked up the puzzle again and completed it."

He gazed at her, the wall behind his eyes, his keen lawyer's mind peeling away her layers, exposing her in a way that made her uneasy. She took his coffee mug and set it on top of the filing cabinet along with hers. She hugged him, nestling her ear against his chest.

He did not anticipate this and was a little taken aback; he stiffened.

"I've missed you," she sighed, listening to his heart beat. "The past few days have been lonely and it feels like everything has been out of sync."

"Indeed." His body relaxed and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She looked up into his face then kissed him tenderly on the lips. He closed his eyes, melting.

* * *

That night Miranda entered Alan's office.

"I'm calling it a night. What about you?"

"I still have a few things to do."

She approached, graceful as a cat, and perched on the corner of his desk; she reached into her handbag and pulled out a square package wrapped in pink paper.

"What's this?"

"Today is Valentine's Day."

His face brightened. "You got me a gift? Miranda, I'm touched."

She shrugged. "I guess I could have waited to give this to you, but you've seemed a little melancholy today."

He held the package and looked at it for a moment, his brightness graying into guilt. "But I shouldn't accept this. I didn't get you anything." He held it out to her. He grew somber, "In fact, I long ago gave up on Valentine's…and all it represents."

"Nor did I expect a gift. And actually, I despise this so-called holiday; it's shallow and ridiculous. Love should be celebrated every day, not once a year." She pushed back on the gift, "Nevertheless, I wanted to share this little something with you; it just happens to fall on this day. But don't get excited, it's nothing lavish or extravagant—just something I couldn't resist."

He gazed at her, running his thumb over the smooth paper.

"Go ahead. Open it before it becomes outdated."

He tore open the paper, opened the box lid, and said, "You got me a…" He lifted it out of the box and tissue paper. "Calendar?"

She smiled. "Open it."

The January picture was of him and Denny smiling into the camera, holding drinks, their arms around each other.

He smiled. "Denny's birthday party."

"Yes."

He flipped through the rest of the pictures—pictures of all the people who most touched his life: Denny, Shirley, Jerry; there were even pictures of him and Miranda together.

"We had fun that night," he said, looking at a picture of Miranda sitting in his lap.

"We did have fun." She leaned over to look at the picture. "I think we do make a cute couple."

"I think June is my favorite," he said, holding up the picture of him, Denny, and Miranda toasting Denny's birthday.

"I like that one too. We make a cute threesome."

Alan laughed. "Indeed." He closed it gently and placed it on the desk. "Thank you, Miranda," he said warmly. "It's one of the best gifts I've ever received."

"I wanted you to have it because sometimes you say things that…" she wavered.

"What things?"

"You say things that hint at a certain perception—a perception that you think you aren't loved or cared about. Then there are times when you seem rather misanthropic—though I can certainly understand why."

"In this job it's difficult to have much hope in humanity's goodness."

She nodded. "But I guess I wanted to prove to you that when the whole world seems to revile you or when you feel as if you revile the whole world, there are a few people, albeit a very few, who truly love and care about you."

"At least for this year."

She chuckled. "Next year we'll compare calendars to see if anything's changed." She winked.

He smiled at her sadly. "Yes," he said quietly. He thought of the song, Time in a Bottle. The first lyrics running through his mind: _If I could save time in a bottle / The first thing that I'd like to do / Is to save every day / Till Eternity passes away / Just to spend them with you…._

He seemed to grow suddenly distant so Miranda asked, breaking his reverie, "What are you thinking about?"

"Jim Croce."

She tilted her head and eyed him questioningly. "I'm not sure what that means." She tapped the box. "There's more." She lifted an ultra thin package out of the box.

"More?" He brightened.

He tore the paper off and lifted up the pictures of Miranda, wearing nothing but a pink feather boa and heels in various tasteful poses.

He gasped. "Oh my." He placed his hand to his heart. "It's what I've wanted for the longest time. You remembered."

"I did."

"Though I have to say, Bradley lent this costume a certain indescribable charm."

She laughed.

"Who took these? This person has a wonderful eye. And whenever did you find the time?"

"Well, one of the nights when you called and couldn't reach me, I was posing for the pictures."

"What about the other night?"

"The phone was silenced. I told you."

"Who took them? In case I want copies," he said, gazing lovingly at the pictures. "This one is my favorite," he said, holding up it up for her to see.

"Ethan took the pictures."

Alan looked up, froze in shock. When he realized his mouth hung open, he snapped it shut.

"You're angry."

"I'm certainly surprised."

"Please listen before you jump to any conclusions."

"Go on."

"I told him about the calendar I was having made for my boss—you."

"Right."

"Then I told him that I also wanted to have some tastefully naughty pictures made for my boyfriend—also you."

"Okay."

"Of course, I didn't tell him that my boss and my boyfriend were one and the same."

"I'm your boyfriend? I didn't realize we were exclusive."

"It's just the term I used. Does the word 'lover' work better for you?"

"It does."

"Anyway…" she rolled her eyes, and flipped her hair off her shoulder. "I just bought this townhome, so I was a little short on money and Ethan offered to do the pictures for only the printing costs. He said that he was a double major in school—law and photography. He showed me his portfolio and, as you see, he is a talented photographer."

"Yes."

"At first I declined. I told him it wouldn't be a good idea since we work together. He said he would be very discreet, everything would be kept confidential—and to top it off, he said he was gay. So based on this information, I believed I had nothing to worry about. I mean why would anyone lie about being gay? Most people lie about being straight." She paused.

"And?"

"And, so I went to his house. He had all the equipment. I sat for the pictures and everything was carried off with the greatest of professionalism. I swear. But…"

"But?" Alan's face tensed.

"As I was about to leave, he tried to make a pass …"

"Please tell me you are responsible for his lip."

"I am. He grabbed me, tried to kiss me. So I punched him."

The tension in Alan's face dissolved "You punched him?" His eyes glimmered.

She nodded.

He smiled. "That's my girl."

"He deserved it. You said he wasn't what he seemed."

"I won't say I told you so." He said with mock seriousness

"Thanks." She rolled her eyes. "But how did you know?"

"Let's just say that over the years, I've develop a finely tuned ability for detecting other letches."

"I suppose I should have listened," she admitted grudgingly.

"I'm determined not to say those four little words as much as I'm itching to do so."

"I told you so," she mocked. "Does that make you feel better?"

"It does."

She laughed. "So…I have an idea," she said.

"Yes?"

"How about you hurry up and finish whatever you're doing here, go have your balcony time with Denny, then afterward you come to my place for dinner and a night of …" She leaned in and kissed him softly.

He moaned lightly.

"Is eight good?"

"Yes." He whispered.

She pulled back. "I'm going to go start dinner." She shifted to move from the desk but he touched her knee gently.

"The other day when you said, 'it isn't worth it' were you talking about me? Am I not worth it?" He seemed to hold his breath as he watched her and waited for her answer.

She studied him for a moment. "That's not at all what I meant. I was deciding whether or not to have the last word; if it would be worth it to fight over something that was relatively trivial. I decided it was not worth it for me to have the last word that day. I just said what popped into my mind right then."

He released his breath, a hint of a smile.

"There's something else," he said.

"Yes?"

"Did you ever…" He wasn't able to finish the sentence and felt utterly foolish, like a high school boy. Her presence always reduced him to that state of insecurity and doubt—much against his will. He felt out of control around her—an unfamiliar and sickening feeling.

"Are you trying to ask me if I liked Ethan?"

"I'm ashamed to admit it, but yes." He looked at her steadily, attempting to veil the anxiety in his eyes.

She scoffed then laughed. "Heavens, no! Shall I list the myriad ways he repulsed me? First, he had very little refinement or sophistication; second, I'm not sure _how_ he got through law school because he isn't the brightest person I've ever met; third, he listens to rap music—which makes me cringe; fourth, he is way too young and green, wears his ball caps backward; and lastly, but certainly not least in _my_ book: he had never heard of Byron _and _he _hates_ poetry—said he didn't 'get it.' How could I possibly be attracted to someone like that? Give me some credit, Alan. If I were ever going to leave you for another man, he would have a pretty tall order to fill."

"He'd probably be an English professor."

Her sexy, throaty laugh floated through the air. He felt a tingle low in his belly. "Maybe; though I've recently acquired a taste for radical, albeit altruistic, lawyers." She winked.

He smiled. "That's my girl."

She laughed and shook her head. "Good Lord, Alan. I can't believe you thought I liked him. You, my darling, are incredibly overworked and in desperate need of a vacation." She kissed his cheek. "I'll see you soon for dinner. Don't keep me waiting."

Again, she tried to slide off the desk, but he touched her knee to stay her.

"Miranda." He kept his eyes lowered.

"Yes?"

"I…" A lump caught in his throat. He continued nervously, "I really like the way you smell. You smell really, really good." He felt a little guilty for using this expression with another woman, but he didn't have a code with Miranda yet. He couldn't possibly say what he needed, wanted to say without a code; it had simply been too long since he said the real thing. Then it occurred to him that she probably wouldn't understand his meaning. He lifted his eyes and searched her face.

She looked at him for a moment, puzzled. What on earth was he talking about? And out of the blue he decides to mention her perfume?

Alan couldn't stand the intensity of her silence. "I just…" He took a deep nervous breath and without breaking his gaze said, "Thought you should know. It's important for people to tell each other that they smell good." He exhaled nervously.

She studied him, sensed his vulnerability. His meaning was now clear to her. She nodded. "You're right, Alan. People should be better about saying those things. I really like the way you smell too. I have for some time now. In fact, of the men I've known, I think you smell the best." She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, then his lips. "I'll see you soon." She slid off the desk and disappeared.

His eyes stung a little. He exhaled again, set his jaw, and then gathered his things to go see Denny.

* * *

Later in the early morning hours, Miranda lay against Alan's chest on the rug in front of the fireplace.

"Do you hear that?" She said.

He listened. "What?"

"The beautiful silence—no boom music from the street."

He chuckled. "Is it possible these people have significant others keeping them busy tonight?"

"Anything is possible I suppose. It must be a Valentine's Day miracle." She giggled.

He lay quietly, thinking, while he toyed with Miranda's hair.

"Are you thinking about Jim Croce again?" She said.

"Actually at this specific moment, I'm thinking about a book I've been reading about sea lice."

"Sea lice?" She laughed. "You're lying in bed with me after what I thought was an incredible love-making session and you're thinking about sea lice? I'm intrigued to know how the two relate."

He chuckled. "Salmon."

"Salmon?"

"Yes. When I think of salmon, I think of spawning and vice versa. And since we just spawned, so to speak, I thought of salmon, which led me to the sea lice."

She laughed.

He lifted a strand of her hair and watched it fall then he smoothed it down. "I've been thinking something else."

"What's that?"

"When you called me your boyfriend…"

"What about it?"

"Am I your boyfriend?"

"I told you, it was just a term I used; it simplifies explanations to people. What are you driving at, Alan?"

He sat up on his elbow, propping his head on his hand. He placed his other hand on her hip. "I've been thinking that perhaps you and I could make this…exclusive."

She did not conceal her surprise. "Wow. I'm astonished. But don't you have a tendency to leave? Isn't that what you once told me?"

"I did say that. And it has been a particular tendency of mine."

"So are you telling me that you don't want to leave?"

"I can't promise I won't leave someday. But what I can tell you is that right now and for the most proximal, foreseeable future I want to be with you."

She smiled coyly, her voice suppressing a laugh. "And what in your mind constitutes a 'proximal, foreseeable future'? Two weeks? Three?"

"At least." He teased.

She laughed and pushed his shoulder playfully. "Jerk."

"It occurs to me that you haven't yet answered," he said.

"I don't know what to say, Alan."

"Ah. Not quite the answer I had hoped for. Should I be jealous?"

"There's only you silly. I just feel like things are moving so quickly, maybe too quickly. A lot has happened to me this year."

"A slow pace is dull."

"Yes, but a candle that burns too quickly soon burns itself out—like passions."

"So are you saying 'no'?"

She idly stroked his chest.

"For a while, I just want to _be._ You know what I mean?"

A crooked smile crossed his lips. "Turns out you're talking to one of the few people who is capable of understanding exactly what you mean."

"Are you…upset with me?"

"No. Take your time."

She kissed him softly. She said, touching his face, looking warmly in his eyes, "I'm here right now. And at this time, I don't have any plans of being anywhere else. Is that good enough? Can you live with that?"

"It is and I can."

He kissed her and pulled her body against his. "Will you promise me one thing?"

"Depends on what it is."

"If you decide you don't want to be here anymore, will you at least let me know?"

She wrapped her leg around him. "I will promise you on one condition." She kissed him.

"What's that?"

"That you promise the same thing to me." They kissed again.

Alan reached over and hit the play button on the CD player remote to play track 6. The light, lilting guitar music drifted out over them, bittersweet and haunting:

_If I could save time in a bottle  
The first thing that I'd like to do  
Is to save every day  
Till Eternity passes away  
Just to spend them with you…_

"You have my word. Shall we consummate our pledge?"

She pinned him to the floor and growled playfully. "Let's."

_If I could make days last forever  
If words could make wishes come true  
I'd save every day like a treasure and then,  
Again, I would spend them with you_

But there never seems to be enough time  
To do the things you want to do  
Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know  
That you're the one I want to go  
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes  
And dreams that had never come true  
The box would be empty  
Except for the memory  
Of how they were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time  
To do the things you want to do  
Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know  
That you're the one I want to go  
Through time with


End file.
